Dreams
by Hoppiholla
Summary: Being bait for a homicidal mind-melding alien isn't Shepard's choice of evening, but when her dreams bring up her past, she has to tell someone before it ruins it all. Rated for the Mindoir story. Shakarian friendship-ish.
1. Chapter 1

I tramped back to the mess in a certain level of speculation. Samara's plight was not totally unheard-of—Justicars were know for having a life-long quest, on top of their other duties. When I had met her on Illium, she had seemed determined, purposeful. Now I just knew what it was. I also knew the trust Samara had placed in me.

What was more worrying was the idea of being bait.

I didn't mind doing this small service for one of my crew, but there was obviously a higher level of peril involved. I would be without weapons, without armor, and with almost no backup. That didn't sit too well with me, but I was willing to help Samara no matter the risk.

Then again...something about this didn't sit too well with me. Maybe it was the fact she was going to kill her own daughter. She had been looking at this...issue as a matter of law, instead of as a mother. Not that Morinth wasn't a criminal that needed to be taken down, but perhaps there were others more suited to the task.

_And if she ever heard me say that, she'd probably kill me._

Gardner was fixing something in the tiny kitchen replica, and a few crew members were dawdling at the table. I nodded in response to their absentminded salutes—long ago I had enforced the need for casualness—and made my way to Miranda's office.

Miranda was one of the few crew members I grudgingly liked. She always seemed so high and mighty, but we had worked well together in the past. I think helping her with Oriana warmed her to me, and, to be honest, vice versa. I wouldn't consider us bestest friends, but we weren't enemies, either.

I knocked politely on the door, waiting with forced patience until it opened. I stepped through and got right to the point.

"I need your help with something."

Even this small concession rankled. It wasn't like me to ask for help with anything, but I simply didn't have the arsenal required for this particular mission. At least it wasn't someone I hated.

"What do you need, Commander?" Bah. Always perfectly civil. That was one thing I had just never mastered.

"I need a dress."

_Well, at least one of us is enjoying this._

Samara was, of course, watching from the back of the room as Miranda shoved me in front of the mirror. I really, _really _didn't want to look. By now, I probably looked like any of the vacuous daughters I had known on the Citadel, puffed and powdered and painted to look like a doll.

"You have to at least _look_," Miranda pouted. _You're doing this for Samara. Samara. Samara._

I opened my eyes from their screwed up position and blinked.

_Screw Samara. I look..._

The dress wasn't _bad,_ it was just so...civilian. I balked at the neckline, which wasn't actually all that low, just...lower than I normally wore. Sure, it had long sleeves, but that was completely trumped by the ridiculous length of the skirt. Trying to justify such a short piece of fabric, I wryly thought that it didn't restrict movement much. It was at least black, not some garish primary color thought to be 'fashionable,' but it was _shiny. _The shoes were a death trap, four-inch black pumps that were as silky-shiny as the dress. I can walk in heels...technically.

My face was worse than I had imagined. I could barely find my dark red eyebrows among all the eyeshadow and eyeliner. My lips were a bold dark red, and my usually flat hair was twisted into a loose bun on the back of my neck. That, at least, was vaguely familiar.

_...normal?_

Those dark red lips that could _not _be mine were slowly opening and closing. The one thought I had was how in the hell I was going to make it through the CIC without being seen.

"Do you think she can do her _job _now?" Miranda asked, serious. At least she hadn't asked 'Do you love it?' because I can't lie convincingly. Instead, she was appealing to my sense of the mission, and that was plain underhanded.

Samara came forward now, stepping up behind the Cerberus operative and I swear to God, the asari was laughing at me. Well...on the inside. Justicars aren't great transmitters of emotion.

"It will appeal to Morinth. You have done well, Ms. Lawson," she said, and nodded to me. "I must make my own preparations, Shepard. I will be ready in two minutes."

Two. Minutes. How was I supposed to hide in _two minutes? _If I hadn't known Samara so well, I would have sworn this was some sort of plot. Joker would never let me hear the end of it.

"Come on, Shepard, down to the CIC." Yup. Definitely a plot.

"Uh, I don't think..."

"Shepard, are you going to do this or not? It's just two minutes."

I cannot berate myself enough for believing her. I stepped into the infamous slow-moving elevator, head held high, thinking of this as a mission. _Flip that, you can do this._

By the time I stepped out, one deck down, I had thoroughly convinced myself that I was totally, absolutely, completely screwed.

I resisted the urge to hide as the elevator doors opened. Miranda kept a firm hand on my arm, and I wondered if our truce would survive if I pulled rank on her and went back upstairs for two minutes. Or got a long, unflattering trench coat. Prior experience told me that would not be good for my image.

Y_ou are _Commander Shepard_, survivor of Mindoir and a freaking Thresher Maw, defeater of Sovereign, Savior of the Citadel, and...oh shit._

I inched towards the back corridor, hoping, praying no one was going to see me, and trying, failing to hide the clicking of my shoes. Four...more...steps...

"Comma..._Commander?_"

Shit.

Miranda was two seconds away from erupting into giggles next to me as I struggled to maintain a stern face. Damn that woman. Ice Queen, eh? Yeah right. Whoever had started that nickname had a lot to learn. Sadistic was a better choice.

"Yes, Hadley?" I asked, trying to stand up straight and failing miserably. Hey, I'm a commanding officer, I get to slouch when thoroughly embarrassed.

"N-nothing, Commander..."

Ugh. I turned to Miranda. "Would you please tell Garrus to get his scaly ass up here?"

"Commander, he's already here."

I scowled and nodded, forgetting I had told her the same thing when she had begun her witchcraft on my face. Miranda, decidedly sober, muttered something and went back inside the elevator, struggling to hide her giggles.

Maybe I was making such a huge deal of this—externally and internally—because I was, actually, uncertain. I absolutely _hated _having no weapons, nothing to back up my certainty. Well...I had my hands, and there was always going to be someone waiting in the wings.

But still...I mean, it was the _crew. _I was the Savior of the Citadel, thwarter of Death itself to them. That awestruck gaze might change after seeing me in a black silk minidress.

A high-pitched squeal drew my attention. Yeoman Chambers—_Really Commander, just call me Kelly!_-had her hands clasped underneath her chin and her eyes were wide with joy.

"Commander, you look _amazing!"_

I drew in a deep breath. Now was not the time to lose my temper.

"Why thank you, Kelly, but you can thank Ms. Lawson for all of...this," I said, indicating, flinching, the dress with a wave of my hand.

The perky redhead—damn her eternal energy—walked right up to me and walked a circle around. "That dress is fantastic! And I've never seen you in make up before! And _heels!_"

I closed my eyes and responded as best I could. "Don't expect to see me in make up _or _heels ever again. I need to talk to Joker now. About...something."

I fled, then, hearing Kelly's giggle from behind me. "Of _course,_ Commander!"

Why did the CIC have to be crowded _now?_ I could have sworn there was half this number of crew a second ago. _Heck, even the engineers are here! _

I would have paid a ridiculous amount of credits to know who summoned the entire crew to the CIC. Everybody was staring openly or stealing glances as I walked by, and I tried not to glare too fiercely. _Time to think about the mission, Shepard. Head in the game._

Garrus was there, leaning against the wall and talking to Joker. The turian usually made the pilot nervous, and he knew it. I smiled slightly, then remembered my problems—embarrassment and the impending death threat—and it vanished. I clicked up to them and gave a particularly loud clack of my heel.

He turned around, opening his mouth, then never speaking a word. His mandibles flared wide open, and his eyes popped as much as a face made of plates can allow. A strangled sound came from his throat, which is quite an accomplishment considering the translator. He decided to cut his losses and stepped aside.

Joker turned around, then, which was _the _last thing I needed. His eyes went wide, too, but he didn't bother to school his expression like Garrus did.

I put my hands on my hips. "Problem, Garrus?" He shook his head emphatically, and I fixed Joker with a glare that clearly said _Not a single. Fucking. Word._

Then again, Joker's never been one for authority.

"Commander! I'm surprised Miranda's letting you go out like that. Bad for our image, isn't it?"

I ground my teeth and decided to make a civilized comment.

"It's for the mission. I'm doing this for Samara, and I swear, if any photos of anything related to tonight, even if it's of my choice of drink, are on the Extranet, ever, I will hunt you down and make you wish you were back on the SR1."

His face paled, but it was quickly covered by a smirk. He opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by the blue orb on his left.

"Mr. Moreau, the chances of Commander Shepard finding images of her attire tonight are rougly nine-nine-point-seven-eight-repeating..."

"Yeah, thanks, EDI, I got that." He rolled his eyes.

"Commander, I am ready." Joker immediately sobered at the sight of the Justicar. In his words, he '_felt that she could shoot me very tranquilly, which doesn't make me feel any better about it.'_

I nodded, managing to stay completely serious while laughing, not too kindly, at Joker in my head. Serves him right.

Garrus lagged behind, presumably to gawk, as Samara handed me a black object. Great. More black clothing.

When I held it up, I was shown a black coat that fit perfectly to the length of the skirt. It was also just as low cut. No more coverage in that department, then. But what was best about it was the fact it had a _hood._ I had already guessed Joker wouldn't be the only one wanting to snap a holo of the Savior of the Citadel in heels and a little black dress. Now, I would only see myself in makeup once, not for the rest of the Extranet's life.

"_Thank _you, Samara," I said, appreciating her not giving me the coat while Miranda was around. She nodded, a small smile on her lips, before we left the Normandy.


	2. Chapter 2

We stood at the entrance to Afterlife's VIP section. We had already been to Nef's apartment in the past days, when we were trying to obtain clues. _Jaruut, Forta, Hallex, Vaenia...got it._

"Shepard, I must warn you." Great. Yet another warning.

"Morinth is dangerous, extremely so, and you must be careful." I was exasperated, but I nodded, having heard this speech before. Samara seemed to want to say something more, but she motioned me forward.

Garrus caught my arm, then—he had been silent on the trip here. "I'll be just a shot away, Shepard."

Now I had two babysitters.

I slipped through the bar with ease, learning yet another of Morinth's fancies, the band Expel 10. I told the boy with the intel to get lost, offering him a silent thank you, as he had brought me closer to survival.

A heavy bass beat was playing that I could feel in my bones. The lighting was closer to red up here than purpleand the dance floor was writhing with people, of every race. I would have stopped to gawk at the two dancing turians—_turians-_but I had more important things on my mind.

I could spot several interesting things to do immediately. A pair of turians in close quarters; another haranguing some asari; a bartender staring forlornly at his empty counter. While I would have never even bothered with most of these things, if I was going to attract Morinth, I had to look...um...special.

I moved over to the bartender, sitting down, leaning over. Too late, after his eyes jerked up and down, I remembered the dress. I crossed my arms.

"You look pretty down. What's up?" I had never been one for delay. Ah well.

"Well, hun, as you can see, you're the only one here. Not that I mind," he said hurriedly. I leaned back, a plan coming to mind.

"What about a round of drinks on the house? That's sure to get some customers."

To be honest, I didn't expect it to work that fast. Was it charm? Was it my stunning good looks? Was it my boobs?

"You're right, honey. Can't believe my problems would be solved by a lady in a...um...dress." Again, with the once overs. It was starting to be annoying.

I winked, and walked away, heels clicking. That seemed...too easy.

It didn't matter. I had to be 'special' again. Yeah.

I was just about to go see what those two turian boys were talking about when I heard a feminine yell from the dance floor. "I _said,_ go away!"

Some drunk turian guy was feeling up one of the asari dancers. Yeah, it wasn't the best choice of profession, but no girl deserves that on some random night. I walked purposefully towards them, getting thoroughly tired of being 'special.'

"Come on, baby blue, don't be like that...heh...baby blue," the turian slurred. Has there ever been an instance of a drunk guy _not _thinking he's the smartest guy in the fucking galaxy?

The asari slapped his hand away. She was in one of those ridiculous dancer getups, her face showing strain. I doubted she was far into the maiden years.

"Baby blue—"

"I wouldn't call her that if I were you."

The turian turned, and the dancer stepped away when he released her waist. He frowned at me, an uncomprehending smirk crossing his face.

"You wanna take her place, babe?"

I rolled my eyes...again. I never wanted to be special again. But it was for the mission...ah well. Here's to an easy, special night.

I cocked my fist and punched him square on the cheek plating. It hurt, a lot, but it didn't break skin. Turians hurt—I've never had cause to punch one before—like a glove of nettles. Happens when your face is plated with _rock._

He was most definitely drunk. He dropped like a stone, flat on his back as the asari squealed. I had never had much patience for squealy girls. Rubbing his jaw, he gave me a confused look, and slumped off to bother someone else.

Rubbing my knuckles, I turned back to the asari. She was stammering her thanks, staring at the spot where the turian had been.

"Scram," I said, warning her with a glance. She shut up, and ran off. Finally, some peace and quiet.

"In the name of being special," I muttered to myself, warranting a glance or two. I winked at whoever looked my way, twitching an eyebrow here and there. _You know, this could be kind of fun if I wasn't busy saving the galaxy._

After floundering about for a bit, chit-chatting, leaning back, relaxing. It was excruciating. I was certain that Samara was watching me right now, in my full awkward glory. Okay, I didn't know the meaning of the word 'relax,' but I could try, right?

That was when I looked up, and saw her staring back.

It was an asari, sheathed entirely in black. While I doubted such a thing was socially acceptable, as it didn't have a peek of skin or skirt anywhere on it, it appeared she was wearing a tight-fitting sneak suit, her lips almost as black as the cloth. Her eyes were blue, but strangely so, a black rim around the edge. The waves on the back of her head were darker blue, as well. In fact, she looked a lot like—

—she looked a lot like Samara.

_So this is Morinth._

Looking into those blue eyes, I felt a small thrill of fear. I quashed it immediately—this was who I had come for.

I flicked her another glance, this one with an eyebrow raised high, and nodded at the door. She smiled, slightly, ever so slightly, and once more, I saw the family resemblance. She rose, and I started walking.

I used the measured clicking of my heels to steady myself. Maybe it was the gaze of an Ardat-Yakshi, but I was starting to have a bad feeling about this.

_Click. Click. Click._

I steadied my breathing, and saw where she was leaning against the doorway. That small smirk was on her face again, just a tiny lifting of one lip.

"My name is Morinth. I've been watching you all night. You're the most interesting person in this place. I've got a booth in the shadows. Come with me?

_I'm so sorry! I swear the battle is coming next. Pinky promise. _

_-Hoppiholla_


	3. Chapter 3

Morinth's apartment was classy. The bass from Afterlife still pounded through my bones as I marveled at the room. It was large, much too large for one person, and had a sweeping view of Omega's skyline. She had 'seduced' me here, and I wasn't exactly dragging my feet. It was nice, really, but the thought of Nef, and her grieving mother Diana, pervaded my mind. I made a good showing of myself, I thought. I admired her sculptures, her weapons display, even her disturbing snack bowl of various drugs. I lingered over that one, remembering her Hallex fascination.

"Have a Hallex, if you'd like. But I'd prefer my senses be fully functional, wouldn't you?"

I nodded absently. She was lounging against the couch, and spread her arm next to her suggestively. I took the seat proffered.

"I can still hear the bass, like the drums of a great hunt out for your blood. Here, it's muted, and you're safe. Is that what you want, Lessa?"

"People feel safest right before they die," I said, a mimicry of her smirk on my face. I was beginning to get caught up in this myself.

"It's true. We're never safe. I've never understood the fascination with safety. Some of us choose differently. Independence over submission." She rose, and stood before me. I looked up at her. Somewhere in the night, my hair had fallen from its loose bun, and I flicked it back over my shoulder. She smiled wider.

She sat on my lap, and my sense of foreboding increased tenfold. Her legs were on either side of my hips, and something about this position, her in such obvious dominance, set off alarm bells in my head. For once, I really wondered if I could pull this off.

"I think we share that, you and I."

I decided to go the complete opposite of me. It had worked so far. "You compare us, but you're nowhere near my league."

"So strong...I need this." Morinth dropped, sitting down on my lap instead of propping herself up on her knees. _Pinning you down! _My soldier self screamed. I ignored myself, and put my hands around her waist. She put her hands on either side of my face, right over my cheeks, pushing my hair back from my face. I looked up at her.

And then I knew I had made a mistake.

Her eyes were black. Not just no longer blue, but darkness had spread from her pupil to every corner of her eyes. A memory flashed in front of me—Liara's eyes, probing for information. I immediately knew that this was going to be much more sinister.

The distant bass became the only sound I heard as I felt—felt, not heard—her voice in my head.

_Look into my eyes and tell me you want me._

She had me. This was not the plan. _Where is Samara?_

My limbs slackened, growing more and more limp as she raced through my head. To put it plainly, she was growing on me; every action I now considered taking was centered on her. I felt my lips move, words whisper through, words I could only vaguely control.

"Morinth...can't...want..."

_Tell me you'd kill for me._

I could imagine it, suddenly—seeing myself going back to Afterlife. Seeing myself shooting that turian, a shot exploding through his head. I could almost hear his death scream, and just the thought of it made me ecstatic, knowing she would be pleased with me. Only half of me resisted.

_Anything I want._

Tendrils of blackness were weaving through my mind, probing, learning, exploring. The half of me that remained hoped she wouldn't find the part of my head that was screaming for Samara. Where was she? Had she even managed to follow us here? And was she still with...

...Garrus.

"_I'll only be a shot away."_

I abruptly entered my own mind again, throwing off the invader and I heaved Morinth to the side, next to me on the couch. I tried to stand, get away somehow, but my limbs were still weak. _Fuck mind-melding homicidal asari! _"Don't count on it."

Morinth looked startled. Apparently, she'd never been rejected before.

"Who _are _you?" For a moment, she actually looked curious, wondering what I would do, and if I would answer. Then her face became a mask of...not exactly fear, but there was that, too. More like she was angry at me for disrupting her perfect rhythm of hunt, chase, kill. Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh no...I see what's going on. The bitch herself found a little helper!"

At these words, I was picked up in the air and thrown like I was little more than a rag. I hate fighting against biotics—the powers, not the people. It's like trying to take apart a straightjacket with a blunt pencil. Especially since I don't have any of my own. Especially against some fucked-up asari that's been absorbing others for who knows how long. By some freak of chance, she chose to throw me at the wall with an assault rifle and sword on display. _Wrong move_, _Morinth, _I thought through the sudden pain in my right side. I slid a little, and I, for once, thanked the slippery material of the black dress. I offered a thank you to Miranda.

Just as Morinth was stalking towards me, the closing of the door drew both our gazes.

Samara. Samara, glistening with blue biotic power, was striding towards Morinth, barely giving me a glance. She looked perfectly calm, but the air fairly crackled with power. I had never seen anyone—the justicar included—gather that much around her.

"Morinth." Calm, cool, in control. That belied her intention as she slammed the asari against the wall, pinning her to the windows with her limbs splayed out. Morinth's head was sideways, but she managed to turn back to Samara with the ghost of a smirk on her lips.

"Mother..."

"Do not call me that!" Another slam. Even I winced at this one, as the glass window cracked further. If I was looking at events correctly, it was soon going to be very cold in here. An armchair came sliding across the room towards me, and I kicked it away with a frustrating feeling of slowness as it jarred my leg. I continued my slow, agonizingly slow approach to the assault rifle display.

"I can't choose to stop being your daughter...Mother." I stopped myself from smiling. How many times had I used the same tactic to piss off my own family? Then my amusement vanished. This was Samara. She _was _my family.

"You made your choice long ago!" Samara was just holding her there. I wondered what she was thinking. _Kill her and be done with it!_

"What _choice!"_ Now it was Morinth's turn to put her formidable biotics on display. She curled into a ball, then exploded outwards, both a biotic field and her sizable person. It was amazing, in the oh-my-god-she's-going-to-kill-us-all way.

Unfortunately, said biotic blast broke the glass, and a cold wind blew the shards inward. Samara managed to divert the glass, powered by Morinth's biotics, but it only sent them around her, and towards me.

_Oh that's not good. _

Glass can't be shot at, you see. I managed to throw myself towards the chair and showed my back to the glass, and though it stung like bees, at least none of it had hit my face and I could still, you know, see. I ignored the pain and reached for the assault rifle. _Two...more...inches..._

The chair I was hiding behind was suddenly thrown. When I whirled to see whether it was Morinth or Samara, I saw Samara on the ground, climbing to her feet. Morinth turned to me, a wicked look of comprehension coming over her face. I almost groaned. _Is glass and cracked ribs not enough?_

"You gave me these gifts, _Mother, _and that is my only crime! _You _caused this, _Mother,_ but I will not bow down!"

This time, when she threw me, I was ready. Instead of being hurled through the air, I retained my grip on gravity, and once more thanking Miranda for the short skirt, slid backwards, my hand catching on glass. I positioned one foot behind me to stop myself, but Morinth had already turned back to Samara.

"_Enough, _Morinth!"

"I am the genetic destiny of the asari! But they are not ready to reveal this, so I must die!"

When I looked up from frantically picking glass out of my hands, the two were deadlocked. I had always seen Samara as some sort of invincible biotic, but now I knew that Morinth was equally as powerful. In the same instant, I knew they would need someone else to break the stalemate.

And I knew that person would be me.

"You are a disease to be purged, nothing more!"

Morinth turned to me. I could see the survival instinct in her eyes, kill or be killed. She was trying to draw me in again, turn me to her will. Her eyes weren't black again, but simply through a look, I could feel her influence.

My mind was still foggy, but I was determined to never let anyone into my head again. Morinth didn't seem to understand this.

"I'm as strong as she is! Let me join you!"

Chairs and objects began to spin around us as the biotics grappled with each other. There it was again—the tugging to accept, to help Morinth.

"I am already sworn to help you, Shepard, let us finish this!"

My mind had already been made up.

I ignored the screaming of my body as I walked forward. My hair was literally floating in the midst of this maelstrom, and the fine ones on my arms were also on end. Morinth's hands were out in front of her, and her eyes were narrowed in concentration. Both of them were on the offensive, but I could see Morinth had a few tricks up her sleeve. _What did you expect from a rebellious Ardat-Yakshi?_

My bloody hands found purchase on her wrist. I twisted it up and behind her head, breaking her concentration. I saw the realization of her fate flash through her eyes.

"End of the line, Morinth."

Her face—_beautiful, _I thought in surprise—was twisted in hate as I held her wrist.

"And they call me a monster!"

Both Morinth and I felt the biotic field racing towards us from Samara's direction. It was focused on Morinth, thankfully, and I knew she couldn't put up a strong enough shield in time. I decided it was time to let go of her wrist before I was smashed into Shepard pulp.

The blast knocked Morinth flat onto her back, her head cracking against the sleek, polished floor. She shook her blue head once, then began to scramble backwards as her mother came towards her. Samara's face held no trace of triumph or victory, only a peace that I didn't believe in. I looked down at Morinth, and for once, I didn't feel sorry she was going to die.

A black sheathed hand shot towards me, and I wondered why it was always me.

Blue, crackling, invisible hands clenched around my throat, lifting me into the air, tightening the closer Samara came. That was it, then. If Samara killed Morinth, Morinth would kill me.

_Miranda will never forgive me _was my only thought as Samara took Morinth by the throat. In some survival instinct long buried deep, my own hands reached up to claw at my throat. Spots came in front of my eyes, and I fought to breathe, and to stay calm.

_How could she know? What did she see?_

"Find peace in the embrace of the goddess."

I didn't see it—I had spots in my eyes—but I heard the sickening squelch of Samara's attack. As my eyelids fluttered, I wondered what she had done.

Morinth was dead.

I knew it without a doubt because the hands that threatened to crush my neck vanished, dropping me to the glass-covered floor. She had done it with style, I had to give her that—in a particularly large piece of glass, I saw around my neck a blackening bruise shaped like hands. That was going to be there for a while.

I gasped for breath, relief filling my head as surely as the air filled my lungs. _Never again._

Samara stood over the body, staring down with empty eyes. The corpse of Morinth she stood over didn't appear to have a head. I blinked, and Samara was standing over _me._

A blue hand reached down for me. Still drawing in deep breaths, I took it. In my slightly fuddled state, I marveled at the new purple color. _Pretty._

Samara took me by the shoulders, attempting to avoid the glass still in them and failing miserably. She looked at me closely, and I stared back. She shook me, and my head cleared the rest of the way. Suddenly feeling guilty, I took her hands off my shoulders and put one on hers.

"Samara?" I asked, searching her eyes.

"What do you wish me to say, Shepard? What can I say? I just killed the bravest and smartest of my daughters." She closed her eyes, but I could still feel the pain in her words. "There are no words. I will try another time. For now...show mercy on an old broken warrior and let us leave."

_An old broken warrior._

To be honest, I felt the same way. I had no right to feel that way, I wasn't the one that had killed her daughter, but right now, as though Morinth had brought all my memories to the forefront, I did feel broken.


	4. Chapter 4

"Commander!"

Garrus had been pacing outside for who knew how long, but when he saw me come through the door, relying heavily on Samara's shoulder, he came striding towards us. His face managed to portray rage without eyebrows, so I considered that an accomplishment. I gave him a tired smile.

"Knew you'd manage to stick around during a homicidal asari attack, Garrus," I said with a hint of my former sarcasm. Right now I just wanted my bed and a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy.

He reached for my arm and I winced unintentionally, even though I had been planning to buck it up and escape Chakwas' ministrations. He pulled his talon back immediately, his mandibles flaring wide in what I assumed was worry. I sighed as Samara tried to help me put on the black coat without grinding in the glass any deeper. I winced again when it brushed over the cuts, but managed to reply anyway.

"Garrus, I'm fine, really, I just need to get this damn glass out." His expression became even darker and he glared at Samara before leading the way back to the _Normandy._

_I'll only be a shot away, Shepard._

x-x-x-x-x-x

I stared morosely at the ceiling of medbay, one arm stretched out towards Chakwas. Garrus sat next to me, and Samara stood guard by the galley window. Anyone who tried to get a glimpse in was met by her glare. I was doing my best not to show any reaction as she pulled out the largest pieces of glass, but it hurt all the same. Every shard was a wince, a strangled cry choked off quickly. The feeling of a suit of nettles was back, except this time it wan't just my hand.

That reminded me...

"Did I tell you I punched a turian?" I said, turning to him after throwing yet another glare at Chakwas. He started, slightly, then raised an eyeridge.

"Was that...wise, Shepard?" He said, but there was amusement in his voice. I smiled slightly, before grimacing at the tug of glass. His amusement vanished. I sighed. When would he get over his protective turian tendencies?

"Garrus, I told you I'm fine, if I could just get some rest _in my own bed," _I said pointedly in the doctor's direction, "I'll be back to normal."

He snorted, but didn't voice his opinion again. Samara looked at me in anguish. She had apologized the entire walk to medbay, and I was doing my best to refute all of them. I raised an eyebrow, and the justicar went back to her surveillance.

Chakwas started wiping my arm. She had already cleared my other arm, but the cuts bled sluggishly. On this recently de-glassed limb, it bled freely, but she did her best to return my arm to its pale color. I grunted as she applied a stinging antiseptic.

The _whoosh _of the pneumatic door drew my attention. Miranda and Jack came in, and for an instant, I wondered if Jack had attacked Miranda. Again.

But they didn't look to be ripping each other apart. Both of them actually had a look of concern on their faces. Jack and I had come to an accord after the escapade at Pragia, and she now not only respected me, but I was, in her own hurried words, "the closest thing I have to a fucking friend." Miranda I hadn't expected. Sure, she was my XO, and she had loaned me a dress, but it was touching.

"Shepard, what the fuck was that?" Ah, Jack. Always the lady.

I tried to sit up, but Chakwas put her hand firmly on my chest. I ignored her and sat up, my side suddenly ablaze with pain. _Scratch off a rib._ I put my hand there, ignoring the crusty feel of dry blood, and spoke.

"Well, Jack, first I stole Miranda's dress, then I punched a turian, then I went to the apartment of an asari that fries your brains while she bangs you, then Samara killed her. Oh yeah, and somewhere in there, I got thrown across a room, cracked a rib, got dropped on a broken window—twice—and very nearly got choked to death. That, Jack, is what the fuck that was."

Jack stared at me, impressed for a moment as I flopped back to the bunk. Before Miranda could get a word in edgewise, Chakwas glared at me.

"The next time you suspect you have a cracked rib, Commander, it might be a good idea to tell your medic." I smiled meekly, and at her insistence, lay quietly to have my ribcage checked.

Miranda finally spoke up. "Commander, the rest of the crew is glad you're safe." She looked me over critically, then said with a tentative smile, "At least I don't have to take the dress back. I know where that's been."

I smiled back. Finally, I was getting the Ice Queen to thaw.

Jack looked sidelong at Samara where she remained by the window. "So, Commander," she said conspiratorially, "is Samara really all she's cracked up to be?"

I rolled my eyes, but my words were heartfelt. "Yes, Jack, Samara's all that you think and more."

The justicar turned to me, and gave me a half smile.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Two hours of bloody limbs and a shredded dress later, Chakwas had gotten out all that needed to be out. My eyes were still scrunched up from the extrication of the smallest, deepest pieces, and I opened one to look at her. Her hands were spreading something on my arms, something cold.

"What are you doing to me _now?_" I said with an air of long-suffering. She didn't look up, or answer, until she tried to move to my side. Numbness was starting to spread through my arms and legs.

"Just something to keep you still while the cuts heal, Commander," she said innocently. With a growing feeling of betrayal, I realized I could no longer move my fingers or toes. Before the devil woman could put any of the nasty...whatever it was on my side, I lurched into a sitting position. "Don't—"

With an air of triumph, she stabbed me with some injection in the side and I felt the coolness suddenly in that area. Chakwas tried to push me back down, but I refused.

"I could have you tried for mutiny," I muttered, thanking the spirits that I was only numb from my elbows down. I scooted forward on the cot, trying to keep my hands and feet still but ending up failing. I looked like a goddamn fish.

Of course, that was the moment Garrus, Miranda, and Jack chose to walk in. Chakwas was watching me, one eyebrow cocked, as if she thought I wouldn't be able to make it to the door. Ha. Doesn't know me, now does she?

In my fog of determination and flailing limbs, as Garrus raised an arm to catch me, I fell off the foot of the bed and on my face. At least it wasn't far down. Chakwas gave a cry, but Jack just laughed. Thanks, Jack. Nice to know I mean so much to you.

"Ah, fuck," I said, trying to push to my hands and knees, but only managing to scoot around on my elbows, and ultimately fall flat again. Miranda was, thankfully, silent, but Garrus was close to laughing himself.

"What did you do to her, Chakwas?" he asked as I tried to flip onto my back and push with my feet.

The doctor sighed. "On any other patient, complete numbness in their arms and legs would keep them in a medbay. The Commander is not any patient."

I smirked to the ceiling, only to discover my feet were immovable. Plan B failed. "Damn straight I'm not."

Jack burst out in another round of laughter, collapsing against the wall and holding her bare side. Miranda rolled her eyes, then held up what she was carrying. It was a tank top and loose shorts, my sleeping garb of choice. I flopped an arm towards her. Technically, I was clothed, in a sports bra and underwear, to be sure, but Garrus didn't exactly, you know, care. Human biology probably wasn't a matter of interest to him.

Miranda pulled the shirt and shorts on for me as I tried to help. Mostly I just got in her way. After being suitably clothed, I resumed my slow, fishlike escape bid. More fishlike, now—I was trying to swim across the floor.

Garrus rolled his eyes, something I'd never seen him do before. "Chakwas, she's going to hurt herself."

"Try me, Garrus!" I said, gaining a few inches on the door. _Now, I just need another hour to get to my guns...or maybe just the elevator..._

Chakwas gestured helplessly. Garrus sighed, a strange sound with his double set of vocal cords, almost a whistle, and reached for me. I ignored him, floundering towards the door.

A hand caught the back of my top and pulled me up. I cursed as Garrus threw me over his shoulder, banging uselessly on his back.

"Dammit, Vakarian, put me down!"

He started walking toward the elevator, ignoring my pleas and Jack's sniggering. The two other women decided _not_ to herald my strange medbay departure, and left me to Garrus' ministrations. Which were sure to involve a bed.

_Aaaand that sounds _really _awful..._

I tried to swing my torso back over his shoulder and stand, but his grip on my waist was firm. I resorted to beating his back with the flats of my hands and elbows, flopping around and trying to kick him. He chuckled at the look on Gardner's face as he entered the elevator and punched the button.

"Garrus, if you weren't my best friend I would beat the _crap _out of you," I grumbled as the elevator began its slow rise. He laughed again, mandibles flaring wide in a turian smile.

"What, while you're nearly numb? Good luck with that," he said. My mouth twitched in a smile, and I hung limply on his back, occasionally hitting him with a soft hand. He really had gotten better at the whole 'scathing wit' thing.

The elevator pinged cheerfully and Garrus grabbed my hand. I thought he was finally going to let me saunter into my own room, but he just pushed it against the security scanner. Great. So now I'm an accomplice to my own abduction.

My rooms were only lit by the fish tank until Garrus turned on the lights. I had turned off their motion-activated sensors, due to too many late nights that ended with me fumbling around blinded looking for the switch. So now I just came to bed in the dark. I hadn't anticipated someone else dumping me in my quarters.

He walked to the foot of the bed and unceremoniously dumped me upon it. Somehow, he had managed to flip me around and I fell on my face with a muffled _Ow._

"Nice, Garrus, real smooth."

He seemed to recognize his mistake and groaned. Timidly, he reached for me, but I decided I wasn't going to give him such an easy time of it.

"Well, Garrus, you have your CO on her bed helpless, what now?"

His talons pulled back and he turned on his heel, blue armor glinting even more intensely in the light from my fishtank. "You know what? You can just stay like that. I'm going to go take a walk or something and revel in my freedom of movement."

I giggled from my face-down position on the bed as he left. I turned my head minutely and glanced at the nightstand. 2100 hours. Just what I needed. Next to the glowing alarm clock, one tattered sleeve draped over the digital face, was the black dress. I felt bad for ruining it, and vowed to pay Miranda back one day. Once more, I thanked her for bringing me the tank top and shorts. Flashing my crew would put the icing on this cake of a day.

I turned my head the other way. In my hand was a pill. Chakwas had told me to use it to sleep, and had asked under her breath if I needed any for the future, but I had vehemently refused. I was going to reject the one I had now, but she said that as long I was under her care, I had to do the bare minimum.

I hated using sleeping pills. They felt like cheating. If I was too hyped up to go to sleep, I should do something hyped up. I had to take care of myself, not let some tiny blue ovoid do the job. Although I had to say, I had a feeling my brain activity was a bit too wild to allow unconsciousness.

I flipped over, blowing my red hair out of my mouth. My arms and legs were spread randomly on the bed, but I thought I could somehow manage to place the medication in my mouth. It took a few minutes, but I finally managed to dry swallow the pill. A feeling very similar to what had stolen my limbs was now starting in my feet. Trust Garrus to leave me alone when I needed it.

I closed my eyes, a small smile on my face as I fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Two children were hunched down in the brush, holding a rifle that they were trying to fit a scope to. One was a boy, blond and lean even for his age. His darker brows were scrunched together as he twisted the screwdriver in his hand. The other was a girl with fiery red hair around her shoulders, her eyes green like the leaves all around her. Her tongue poked out between her teeth as she held the gun still. They couldn't have been older than twelve._

"_We'll have it back before your dad even notices it's gone!" the boy proclaimed excitedly, dusting off his hands as he laid down the screwdriver. The girl rolled her eyes._

"_Are you kidding? My dad is wicked smart. He probably even knows where we are...right now."_

_The boy froze. "Stop it! He can't know, we hid our tracks. You're just kidding!" The girl solemnly shook her head, completely serious. His eyes took on a panicked look. He punched her arm, and she pushed him back after carefully setting the rifle aside. As if on cue..._

"_**LESSA! **Lessa Shepard, you are in **such **trouble...!"_

_The pair of children exchanged a terrified glance and dove for the bushes. They tried to stop their own breathing and not blink as a man came striding into the clearing. He had green eyes like the girl, but his hair and beard was earthy brown. His daughter's eyes were open wide, watching with bated breath as he picked up the rifle and tools. He examined the workmanship on the recently added scope, and turned to the bushes...right where the two kids were hiding._

"_Your work is good, but if you ever sneak off with a gun without telling me, I'll use your hide to make myself a nice new case," he said casually. Rifle in hand, he went back the way he had come._

_The boy and girl simply gaped at each other._

x-x-x-x-x-x

I woke with a thrash. Nope, I never wake with starts, I wake with full blown temper tantrums.

The dream was not a common one. Lately, my hell had been the Protheans again, long-forgotten memories of pain and terror. This time, Liara wasn't around to save me. Sometimes it was of my first sighting of Miranda, the error Wilson had made when I prematurely woke up. Once, only once, it had been of the _Normandy. _More specifically, the _Normandy's _end. And mine. That had been a truly awful dream, one I didn't care to remember now. Now it was about Mindoir. I battled with the urge to start a crying jag, and I won valiantly.

Right now, I was more concerned that I had been drooling. Part of my pillow was soaked, and my face was wet too, which was thoroughly disgusting, even by my standards, and I had once been a pile of meat in a hardsuit. I blinked a few times after extricating myself from the blankets, but my eyes stayed squinty. Thankfully, the medication from last night had worn off particularly fast, if my alarm clock was right. It said 0300. Well, that was better than two hours. Three AM was almost normal.

I decided I was _not _going to go back to sleep on a soaked pillow, so I got up and adjusted my clothing. My top was all twisted for some reason, but I ignored it. I tossed on a bathrobe, some white piece of Cerberus crap that I had already scratched the logo off of. It was warm—_and not drool soaked—_so it worked.

I tramped into the elevator and avoided drifting off leaning against the wall. I rode it down to the mess hall, where everyone's favorite tubes of edible mush were waiting.

And everyone's favorite turian.

Garrus was sitting at the table, and he was still in his armor. Did the man never get any damn sleep? _Calibrations_, my mind supplied sarcastically. He was picking disdainfully at some concoction the synthesizer had created with a bang and a boom. The turian sharpshooter took a taste of whatever it was on his talon, then his mandibles contracted in a sure expression of disgust. It was such a painfully human gesture a strange warm sense of affection hit me square.

I pushed the feeling away by taking a step out of the elevator, and the movement raised Garrus' head.

"Hey, Garrus."

His mouth opened to make a standard greeting, but the words never left his mouth. His jaws worked, yet the only expressions I could read in his eyes—and turians were harder to read than most—were shock and worry. _What is with the damn Worried Wendy act lately?Oh shit, do I still have drool on my face?_

I put a hand on my hip. "You know, a 'Good morning Commander,' might be nice."

He stood, and after mumbling an absentminded good morning, he asked, "Shepard, what _happened_?"

My eyebrows came down. A tiny suggestion in the back of my mind was growing, but I was too confused to recognize it yet. One eyebrow went back up, jumping as if on a string. It's a talent I've carefully cultivated, thank you very much. Garrus came around the table, and he looked as if he wanted to put his hands on my shoulders, or pat my head, or something.

"Shepard...I mean...what...?" His stuttering would have been endearing if I wasn't so completely clueless as to what he meant. The suggestion began to call for attention, quite insistently, and for one wild moment, I wondered this was what Legion went through.

"Garrus, would you kindly tell me what the hell you're talking about?" I asked sharply. If I had drool on my face, please have the decency to tell me.

He didn't say a word. He just turned me to the fridge, which was the flattest reflective object in the room.

I stared back at myself. My hair was sticking up in strange places, even more so than after a normal night's sleep. I was looking a tad normal again in a tank top, boy shorts, and a white robe with one destroyed logo, but other than that, I didn't see the prob—

Oh fuck.

Remember that urge to cry? Turns out I didn't do such a good job at winning while I was asleep. My entire face was splotched with red and puffy, as if years of buried hurt was trying to squeeze out. Some of it had, in the form of the crystalline tears that were dried on my face. My eyes were tightly shut at the corners, even puffier than the rest. Roads of dead tears were a spider web leading from my eyes to my chin, a map to my heart. More recent ones glimmered slightly, and with a painful shock I remembered the soaked pillow. _Not drool, then._

Just the sight of me after dreaming about Chip was enough to bring even more tears to my eyes.

"Fuck..." I gasped out before Garrus spun me back around. He shook me slightly, as if to force me to give up and cry.

He had been my friend a good long time, my best friend in fact. We had learned each other inside and out, victories, problems, strengths, weaknesses, and I had even learned his story. He had my back during battle, and I had his whenever he found himself in the rare tough spot. I had even learned his story, being truly interested in the reasons and past of my team, both in this life and my last. It wouldn't do to shoot someone's father accidentally one day. But no matter how many talks I had with my crew, I had never reciprocated. Some things do not make easy conversation; the roads of tears on my face proved that. Hell, compared to my past, even Samara's issues seemed like a mild discussion of the weather. And that wasn't an overstatement. I've had people run in fear when I really told them what happened. Like, physically run.

I hadn't wanted to risk Garrus' friendship in exchange for him knowing all the gory details. I was selfish, and now it was costing me; I had to explain at 3 AM after having my mind messed with a scant six hours earlier. And with no coffee.

Well, if he had wanted me to cry, I did. At least as much as Commander Shepard can in the presence of another sentient. Just two tears, one for each eye, that I insisted to myself were because he had shaken me while they were still shimmering in my eyes. All his fault.

His grip on my shoulders loosened, but his voice was still worried. "Shepard, I'm serious, what is wrong?"

Later, when I thought back, a new idea came—two tears. One for each year I was with them. One for each year I was gone.

Goddamn I could _not _do this now.

"Garrus, let's just say I had bad dreams. About Mindoir, and my best friend. One day I'll tell you. Please, Garrus? Let it drop for now?"

It hurt me to not be able to tell him, but it was _too damn early. _To her surprise, he assessed my eyes, then acquiesced. "Of course, Shepard."

I stared after him as he left, leaving me alone, for once, with my ghosts. _And I still don't see any coffee._


	6. Chapter 6

"Commander, you've received a new message at your private terminal. It's flagged as urgent personal."

I stood up straight from my position leaning over the galaxy map, daydreaming. I glanced at Kelly, then heaved a sigh. "Thank you, Kelly." If this was another ad about male genitalia I didn't possess, she and I were going to have a long talk about urgent versus spam.

Standing over the orange projection next to the glowing map, I flicked through the screens quickly. I had always been good with tech, but these interfaces really were much easier to use than most I had come across.

I was staring at my inbox in a matter of moments, scrolling through the archives with a finger. When I got to the top, I noticed that it wasn't actually spam. **Thank You.**

Alternatively, if this was another thank-you letter from some random person's wife/mother, Kelly and I were going to have another aforementioned talk.

Sighing, I opened the message.

_Comander Shepard,_

_I am Talitha. From Mindoir. You helped me get better on the Citadel and let Lootenant Girard take me to a nice school. I am getting better at reading and writing and I can talk better now. Thank you for helping me here and letting me learn to read and write. I can remember everything now but it is easier to talk about and Miss Margie is proud of me. I'll try harder so youll be proud of me too._

_Thank you_

_Talitha_

I blinked rapidly. Talitha. I remembered her. She had been another survivor of Mindoir, damaged almost beyond repair, but I had convinced her to seek help for herself. Lieutenant Girard had assured me they would do everything in their power to help her along. I had only checked up on her once before the Collector issue began. And here she was thanking me like I was her goddamn mother.

"Kelly, I'll take this one in my quarters," I said quickly, because I could feel the snap coming. _What in the fuck did Morinth see? What did she pull up?_

Kelly nodded, trying to look me in the eye, but I didn't turn around in the elevator. Once again, I railed at Morinth. Even after her death, she could still fuck me around. I was sure she had brought memories to the surface, because I just did _not _get the urge to cry like this. You don't go through what I have without getting tough. Was the dead alien really to blame, or was I getting soft?

_Soft. _That word was nearly a crime in and of itself. You get soft, you die. That much I had learned.

I paused over the button for my quarters. I didn't think I could work this out alone. And I had a promise to keep. Sighing, gazing resolutely at the cold metal wall, I pushed the button on the comm.

"Garrus, can you come up to my quarters, please? We need to talk."

_Ubershort chapter here, but it's just a little in between one. The next will make up for it all, and I promise some Shakarian fluff! _


	7. Chapter 7

To be honest, I was nervous that she had asked for me to meet her in her quarters. Wasn't that some sort of human stigma? Maybe she was rubbing off on me. She wasn't exactly the most conventional woman. But what did she want to talk about?

The elevator pinged as the door to her rooms slid open and I took in the scene in front of me. The lights were on, turned up to their full brightness, and my eyes contracted to tiny points to deal with the sudden influx of light. The few times I had been in here, the lights were almost off. The fish tank, for once, wasn't the brightest object in the room, and two graceful fish swam lazily about. Her desk, bed, and end tables were perfectly neat and organized, a few holos lying around. One I knew—it was of Kaidan, his black-haired face smiling at the holographer. The other I didn't recognize.

Shepard was watching the fish. _Illium Skald Fish, _I thought, then groaned inwardly. I knew the kind of fish she kept. This was embarrassing.

Her hands were clasped behind her back and her feet were spread in the classic military posture. She was wearing the simple black and white cargo casuals, the Cerberus logos on the shoulders carefully colored in with black pen. I had always laughed when I saw them, but I didn't think this was the time. It was a bit of a jolt to see her so weaponless. _Weaponless, not defenseless._

"Commander."

She didn't turn, but a slight shake of her hair acknowledged me. "Garrus."

I stood patiently, knowing she would come to it in time. I had gathered this was more than a simple chat. I stood there awkwardly before she turned around and gave me a slight smile.

The last time I had seen her was a little over a week ago, that disastrous morning in the mess that had so unsettled me. She hadn't come down to the main battery or even the crew level since then, and I didn't blame her. It had hurt at first, that I no longer saw her at mealtimes, but I understood her reasons. The moment she had said 'Mindoir,' I knew it was going to be a difficult topic. But Shepard didn't break her promises.

Shepard's face no longer bore the signs of long, hard crying. In fact, it looked fresh and clean, ready for an onslaught of information or danger. Her eyes may have been a little tight, but I may have been imagining things. Maybe I was looking for some sign of what was to come. As I looked down at her, for only the third time in my life, I wondered at how such an astounding person could be compacted into such a tiny body. She was a little over five feet tall, over a foot shorter than I was. She always told me that she was average for a human, but I had always wondered how she managed to stare anyone down like she did. I stopped thinking about her height when she started talking.

"I promised that I would explain the...the other morning to you, Garrus," she said, looking me straight in the eye. I had seen those green eyes burn holes in reporters, and I was nervous whenever they were turned on me.

Shepard snorted derisively. "And this is what I get."

She walked over to the desk and picked up one of the holos, the one I hadn't recognized. When I looked closer, I saw it was a picture of four. One was a tall, big human man in simple leather clothes, a favorite of colonists, that showed the marks of heavy use. His hair and beard were earthy brown, well kept, but his eyes were the same deep, clear green as Shepard's. His twinkled with laughter that matched the smile on his face, embracing two other people. One was a woman, slim with light hair and serious blue eyes that nonetheless reflected her grin. Her hair was shockingly blonde, but her face was round and kind. She was ruffling the hair of a boy, also yellow-haired, who had a one-sided smirk on his face. He had lighter eyes, and a face different from the woman's, and appeared to be quite young. The smile he bore was genuine, radiant even through the electronic display.

The fourth character drew my attention almost immediately. It was a girl as old as the boy. She had red hair past her shoulders, almost all the way down her back, and a sweet smile. She was dressed in a simple shirt and leather pants that bore grass stains and scratches. Green eyes laughed up at me, as if to chide me for staring so rudely.

With a shock, I realized it was Shepard.

She was so..._young. _Her face wasn't lined by care or grief, without any of the signs of worry I had come to accept. Her shoulders weren't bowed by the weight of the galaxy, her posture casual, unschooled by the ways of an officer. Her lips were spread in a grin, one that wasn't reserved or polite or controlled, simply happy. An expression of joy. One I had never seen before.

I had to stop myself from glancing at the Shepard standing before me, to see the difference. I knew what I would see: A commanding officer, hero of the galaxy, without time or room for the child in the picture.

Shepard let me stare for a while, then put her finger on the bearded man. The image distorted, bending around her digit, twisting the image of the two children and woman into an unrecognizable field. Without preamble or introduction, she launched into her story.

"This is the only picture I have of my family. It was taken a few weeks after my thirteenth birthday." She tapped the man. "This is my father. He was the best hunter on the colony, Lex Shepard was, and I was proud to be his daughter. He's the one who taught me to shoot." A tiny smile turned her lips up. "He's the reason I ever thought of joining the Alliance."

Her finger moved to the woman. "This is my mother. She was the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, to me, and loved me and my father very much. Her name was Nassa." She was like a biography, reading out her speech carefully, without letting any emotion getting in the way, as if she was talking about some long-dead admiral or politician. Her smile turned sad. Quickly, she moved on to the boy.

I didn't miss the skip. She was purposely not looking at herself, or talking about herself, or even recognizing that there was evidence of what she had been like. That was painful to me, that she wouldn't or couldn't think of the child she once was. The only thing I noticed different from a lecture was a fact that amused me: Shepard was actually slipping into a bit of an accent. A phrase I had heard from her before came to mind: _Excuse me, but your country is showing._

Her finger left the holo, returning the image to a picture of people with frozen smiles. The one on her face, small as it had been, vanished completely.

"And this is my best friend."

_Here we have the center of the matter, _I thought. This was why she had appeared downstairs in such a state. I didn't know how I knew, but I did.

Shepard began to talk quickly, getting the words out before she could stop herself. "His name was Chip. He was supposed to be the butcher's son, but he loved to hunt. We would spend hours together with my da, learning which end of a gun from the other."

She delicately traced his fixed smile. "He was the one person I was close to. I got along with him like—like he was my own brother. Better." She took a deep breath. "In short, he was everything to me."

Wasn't that a favorite human expression of love? Wasn't that what all the couples in the vids said to each other? Somehow, Shepard didn't make it sound like a saying of devotion. She stated it as a fact, and that was all the more affecting. I was touched that she would be so open with me, and let her feelings out as I hadn't seen her do ever before.

"We were going ta go to Basic together. The supply ship that was coming in a few days was supposed to take us. We were so excited!" She laughed tiredly. "As if I knew what was in store for me." Her face was apparently in a mobile mood—it became sad and regretful.

"And then he told me he loved me."

I was confused; wasn't an expression of love from someone that was 'everything' to you a good thing? Of course, it was a little different among turians—declarations of love usually involved ceremony and deep thought beforehand—but Shepard had taught me that someone saying 'I love you' was a very serious thing. Why would she be sad about this Chip saying he loved her? I decided it was the time to ask. I did feel inexplicably strange about asking about someone she may have been in love with—a hard feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"But if he loved you, why is that a bad—"

Shepard looked up and her mouth twitched a little. "Because I screwed it up, Garrus. I loved him too, but I was scared. I didn't know if I would see him again. So I panicked, and I ran." Her fist came down on the desk, and I jumped. "I royally fucked it up because I was scared of the future."

She laughed again, but this time it was angry, self-deprecating. "I could have had a life with him. If he hadn't felt so damn stupid, he wouldn't have...he wouldn't have died." Again, I didn't miss the skip, and although my feelings of self-preservation were kicking in, I was curious.

"He wouldn't have...?"

Her face hardened; the lines that were so conspicuously absent in the holo appeared. Immediately, I felt guilty—she had been so engrossed in her own story, and I may never see her actually wonder about herself again, instead of the lives of others.

"The batarian slavers came for us on harvest day, just a few days after I...rejected Chip. He felt guilty, and he tailed me around every field I went to." She snorted as she tossed the holo back to the desk. "I was checking a supply shed when he went to check if the ship was the Alliance, come two days early. He went to check it so I wouldn't have to leave my duties." Her eyes narrowed, her hands clenched into fists that didn't look as if they were going to unlock within the week. "It wasn't the Alliance."

Shepard sighed. "Long story short, he shot a lot of batarians and managed to lock me in a shed at the same time. He went down; I didn't. He's dead because of me."

She took a deep breath and looked up, a forced smile, small as it was, on her face. "And that's all. I've done my time, Garrus. You can go if you want." She turned her back, fully expecting me to accept her story and move on.

I remembered my standard goodbye whenever she left the forward battery. _I'll be here if you need me._

I wasn't going to move on this time. This time, Shepard needed someone.


End file.
